Sue Perkins, the comedian and broadcaster, on romance in Venice, sleeping in a
Vietnamese brothel, and the family holiday that turned into The Shining.

I have a freelancer’s mentality: if I leave the country for more than 24 hours on a non-work trip, I believe I will never be employed again. So I take mini-breaks around the British Isles, maybe six long weekends a year. Usually when I go to far-flung climes, it’s work. Last year, I did New York, Los Angeles, Vietnam and Laos, and Vermont. It’s not a bad life.

Where was your favourite foodie destination?

I find Italy excellent because I’m a glutton. I had a fabulous meal in Trastevere in Rome, in the converted basement of an old monastery, which was so simple and effortless. The bread was home-cooked, there was beautiful sea bass and spaghetti vongole and a fantastic vanilla pannacotta that will stay with me for probably the rest of my life.

I don’t understand people who travel purely gastronomically, who book a Michelin-starred restaurant three months in advance and suddenly find themselves in Copenhagen or Barcelona with a zeitgeist plate of snail porridge. For me, a great meal is a collision of company, environment, ambient temperature, the waiters, where you are emotionally. I once had a plate of pasta in Venice with my partner and a bottle of quite nice wine, and it was €150. Shocking. But some nights are so lovely you can’t put a price on them.

Holidays with Mel [Giedroyc] were usually typified by her falling in love – a euphemism – with some hot guy called Spiros and me left as gooseberry to have near-death experiences. I came off the back of a bike in Corfu and when I went skiing, I looked like Inspector Gadget in salopettes and was always being skidooed off the mountain. The gang, who were much more experienced skiers, would fly off. Then, two hours later, Medevac would be called because I’d be sitting in some soft powder crying. Mel has had to take me to casualty on about 12 occasions.

Where has been best for nature watching?

I’ve spent a lot of time in the Highlands of Scotland. To experience genuine wilderness is such a rare thing. I love watching birds of prey and stags. I resist cataloguing because you lose the immediate experience. Torridon was mesmerising and a billion miles from anywhere. My ex and I got there as dawn was breaking and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as the gradations of blue over the loch.

Your cultural hotspots?

If you’re just pursuing culture, you’re not getting a flavour of the place. You can have an amazing time in Florence (pictured aboive) but it’s almost too sweet, like constantly eating chocolate. There’s no ballsy counterpoint to it. I come from Croydon and my eyes can’t cope after four days of incredible architecture.

That’s why I find Amsterdam fascinating. You have this horrible red-light district with men parading at night thinking it’s okay to stare at women, and marauding potheads on stag and hen weekends. Then, when morning breaks, you’ve also got this civilised, beautiful, peaceful city, which has incredible galleries.

What do you need for a perfect holiday?

A companion with an intrepid mind and a sense of humour. And a pocket-sprung mattress would be a boon. Venice fulfilled that. I went with my ex when we were very much in love. I’m rather shy about my unbridled romanticism so I took her there as a sort of joke. I thought we’d laugh at all the people mooning around St Mark’s, but I was swept away. It was picture-postcard beautiful and we went into every church, pop-up shop and gallery.

Most adventurous travel experience?

Laos for the World’s Most Dangerous Roads television programme. It was gruelling and we didn’t realise until afterwards that some hill tribes can be violent. We were approached by a couple of guys with machetes, who had never seen a camera or white women before. That could have gone badly wrong. There were no creature comforts. I woke up one morning to hear a chicken being killed, then saw blood pouring under the door. It was for the vegetarian option. They put just the feet in, not thinking it was meat.

Favourite hotel?

I love the Crosby Street Hotel in New York: stripped floors, white bedsheets, displays of brash young artists’ work. And the location is right in the thick of everything. There’s also a lovely hotel in Cornwall, the Tresanton, which is shiplap, nautical stripe and pristine tablecloths. I love simplicity.

Worst holiday?

My dad dragged us to the Gower when I was 11. His dad was Welsh and he wanted us to see the newsagent’s he’d visited when he was evacuated, though he can’t possibly have remembered it. It was biblical, end-of-days rain for a week and we were staying in a static caravan. It got to the stage where we just couldn’t go out. The three of us kids went mad, then my parents went mad and it turned into The Shining, with my dad as Jack Nicholson. I remember him chasing me with a hairbrush. We didn’t find the newsagent. Then we went home.

Worst experience on holiday?

Staying in brothels in Vietnam and Laos. The single worst experience was checking into a place in the middle of nowhere just as the power fizzed back to life, where a disinterested gum-chewing guy gave me my room key. But the door was locked – there was a Vietnamese businessman and an 18-year-old in there. They didn’t change the sheets after they left and I ended up sleeping on the floor.

Favourite airline?

I’ll fly the flag and say British Airways. I’ve flown budget airlines because they’re cheap but I don’t like the fact that you feel you’re in a shop. From the moment you take off, there’s the constant whine of the PA system and relentless selling.

Best piece of travel advice?

Never stay in a hotel that does rooms by the hour – and check the sheets. If you want to be surrounded by people all gawping at the same stuff, take a guide book. If you want a unique experience, don’t bother. I walk and walk. Eventually you see all the places in the guide book.

What do you hate about holidays?

Unpacking. I have a terrible habit of just leaving things in suitcases. I also hate it when you land seven miles from the terminus and have to get a bus. In Doha (above), it was me and my mate and everyone else was a sheikh. It was hilarious. We were probably the only non-billionaires on the bus.

Where next?

I’m thinking of a trip to northern Spain, to Santander then along the top. It’s beautiful, mountainous, thinly populated, with good walking and pottering options. My grandparents lived in Torremolinos and I have a view of Spain as hastily built high-rises containing expats. I want to see a different Spain.

Sue Perkins has written and stars in Heading Out; Tuesdays, 10pm, BBC Two